


what a metaphoric fall

by Mamaburnie



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Bodhi Rook deserved better 2k17, Canon Compliant, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Character Death, Minor Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-11
Updated: 2017-01-11
Packaged: 2018-09-16 13:37:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9274436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mamaburnie/pseuds/Mamaburnie
Summary: And then Cassian drops his hand to Bodhi’s shoulder in unspoken comfort, a small smile on his face, and Bodhi thinks–I’m broken, I’m broken, I want you.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Came out of Rogue One viciously in love with Bodhi Rook, and well. This happened. I tried to stay as true to the movie and the novelization as I could, but given that I don't actually own the novelization and I'm just going off of various excerpts I've found on tumblr, you'll have to forgive me for anything that I get wrong. I also took a quite a few liberties with Bodhi's backstory, and most of the the minor characters mentioned are OC's.
> 
> A huge thank you to my wonderful beta [Grace](http://archiveofourown.org/users/generally/pseuds/generally)! This monster wouldn't be possible without your constant support, and I'm forever grateful for all that you do. 
> 
> Title from "Selene" by Imagine Dragons.

 

“The universe, I’d learned, was never, ever kidding. It would take whatever it wanted and it would never give it back.”

– Cheryl Strayed, _Wild: From Lost to Found on the Pacific Crest Trail_

 

 

 

There are three universal constants, Bodhi rationalizes. He writes them in his personal tablet, the one he built himself out of scraps salvaged in his spare time between cargo runs. It’s useless for anything more than writing, but he treasures it, keeps it hidden from his peers and especially from his superiors.

It is the only thing he has for himself, and if he wants to use it to get a little philosophical from time to time, so be it. Not like there’s much left for him to lose, anyhow.

 

-

 

First, there is death–

 

_“Your father isn’t coming home,” his mother tells him one afternoon, once he comes in from playing outside. The weather was starting to shift, grey clouds hanging heavy in the sky, bringing the promise of rain._

_Everyone said Jedha had two seasons, dry and slightly less dry. The perpetual bite in the air never fades, but for a few months, it’s accompanied by sleet that’s harsh enough to flay skin. Years later, Bodhi will pinpoint this exact moment as the one that made life on Jedha absolute agony._

_“What?” Bodhi asks. He is small, barely reaching the height of his mother's hip, cheeks round and eyes rounder. “Why not?”_

_She squats to his level. Her hair is pulled back in a loose bun, wisps of black framing her blotched red face. There are faint tracks of moisture across her skin, left from tears that Bodhi never saw her shed, and he doesn’t realize the strength his mother truly possessed until he is older, when he thinks of death and his father and the hazy memory of sleet beginning to dance a tinny pitter-patter across their metal roof._

_“He’s dead, Bodhi,” she says. Azori Rook was nothing if not blunt._

_“How?” Bodhi curls his hands round the hem of his shirt, heart starting to beat a little bit faster. He knows what being dead means, but there is a part of his young, naïve mind that doesn’t want to believe it._

_Her eyes grow softer, somehow, and she cradles his face in her calloused hands and kisses his forehead. The wind howls outside, angry and grieving for something Bodhi doesn’t understand quite yet. There is_ so much _he still doesn’t understand, like why his mother ducks her head in the marketplace when the Stormtroopers pass, holding him close and mouthing silent prayers behind her cotton headscarf._

_“Ask me another time.” The words are muffled against Bodhi’s skin, as if his mother couldn’t bear to pull away even an inch. “No more questions. We have work to do.”_

 

-

 

She never does tell him, in the end. They fight over it; Bodhi screams until his throat hurts and his eyes burn with the salt of too many tears, feeling betrayed that his mother is hiding something so large, so _important_.  

It isn’t until he’s older, more observant, that he realizes she is protecting him from the truth.

 

-

 

(Somewhere in the closet of Bodhi’s childhood home, half-hidden under old boxes filled with a mixture of handmade toys and old linens, a scrap of fabric reads in faded handwriting:

 

~~_Killed in a mining accident_ ~~

~~_Captured by space pirates_ ~~

~~_Blown up in a ship malfunction_ ~~

_Killed by the Empire_

_Killed by the Rebellion_

 

It could have only ever been one or the other.)

 

-

 

Second, there is the Force–

 

_It happens in the middle of the night. They drag every student on the Piloting track out of bed and force them into the largest auditorium that the Service Academy has to offer. Droids line the walls, standing in front of every possible exit, the scene something reminiscent of a shepherd and a herd of bantha._

_Bodhi shifts uncomfortably, shoulders brushing the people on either side of him. He has to crane his head to see above the mass of bodies, silently cursing his short stature as he rocks onto the tips of his toes, wanting to know exactly what caused everyone to be roughly woken up at two in the morning._

_“Do you know who this is?”_

_The Academy’s headmaster, Daay Sowra, is standing on the stage they were all forced to gather around, his jaw clenched and eyes cold, voice booming out over the silent crowd. He has Darth Vader standing to one side of him, and between them, kneeling on the ground, a student that Bodhi has seen in several of his classes over the past year and a half._

_Dread sits like a dead weight on his shoulders, and he settles back onto his heels._

_“This,” Sowra continues, lips curling back into a sneer as he throws an arm in a wide, sweeping gesture, “is a traitor. Sul Salamon was your classmate, your friend, someone you thought you could trust.”_

_Sul does not flinch as Sowra talks about her, just keeps her head bowed, long black hair obscuring her face. Bodhi is hyperaware, suddenly, of his own hair hanging loose around his temples and throat. He didn’t have time to pull it back before he and his roommate were forced out into the hallway with the rest of the students._

_“She and a friend were planning to join the Rebellion. Her friend succeeded in doing so. Sul did not.”_

_That is all they ever say of her story. Bodhi doesn’t know if anyone speaks her name in the Academy ever again, but he makes sure to carve “Sul Salamon” on the inside of one of the wooden panels of his shared bunk bed._

_He doesn’t want to forget._

_“Lord Vader,” Sowra says, ducking his head and taking a step back, indicating for Vader to take his place as the center of attention. The only part of Vader that moves is his hand, coming out from underneath his cape, wrist crooked, fingers curled, as if, as if–_

_Bodhi watches Sul choke on nothing, watches her slump at the feet of her murderer, watches blood smear from the wounds on her neck, where she was so desperate to breathe she shredded her own throat with blunt nails. This is what they were called out of bed for. To watch an execution in the middle of the night._

_The only noise in the auditorium is the sound of Darth Vader’s life support, each mechanical inhalation sending Bodhi reeling. There isn’t a flicker of movement in the crowd, every single person shocked into stillness, afraid of ending up with the same fate as Sul._

_“Let this be a lesson.” Vader says before turning and exiting the stage, an entourage of Stormtroopers following him from their position by one of the side doors._

_Sweat beads along the back of Bodhi’s neck and he wonders, briefly, if this is the same Force his mother used to pray towards._

 

-

 

The Empire uses mistakes, _defiance_ , as examples. This is the only interaction Bodhi ever has with Darth Vader.

This is not the last execution he’s forced to witness.

 

-

 

(Bodhi saw bits and pieces of himself in her. She was an average student, from what he could recall. Talented, but not exceptional. Likable, but often alone. Unremarkable in most aspects.

Clumsy. Short-sighted. Trapped.

 _Dead_.)

 

-

 

Finally, there is the cliche–

 

_He takes up gambling when he’s planetside. His mother never allowed it, back when it was just the two of them struggling to survive. They already had so little, and Bodhi couldn’t be the reason for them not having any food on the table. He saw what happened to families like that, where husbands and fathers took up drinking and gambling, how they continued to roll the dice even as their families shrivelled into nothing from starvation._

_Plus, the one time he did try and gamble as a kid back in NuJedha, he’d been caught and fined. Azori’s subsequent punishment hadn’t given Bodhi much incentive to try a second time._

_It isn’t until Eadu that anyone takes notice of Bodhi’s sudden involvement in the Sabacc tournaments. He’s usually out relatively quickly, betting too much and getting too cocky for a man who lacks the ability to keep his expression neutral. Card games were never one of his strengths, he usually just placed bets on the odupiendo races whenever he was on Jedha picking up another Kyber shipment, but Sabacc is better entertainment than sitting in the shuttle and waiting to depart again._

_  
_ _Bodhi shifts back in his seat, watching the last few pilots go head to head with one another. He’s gotten good at picking up on tells and strategies, spending the majority of each round observing everyone else. Even the most inconspicuous person had a pattern._

_Eventually Lorna, his copilot, comes out on top and cackles victoriously as she rakes the credits towards her. A few of the off-duty officers stationed on Eadu join them in the cafeteria during the brief respite between rounds, the other pilots give brief nods as greetings and making room at the table. An older man slides into the seat next to Bodhi’s, his body language relaxed._

_The others begin to chat, catching up again after the week-long intermission between shipments. Bodhi doesn’t know any of them, but before he can slip into the conversation, the man beside him nudges Bodhi with his elbow._

_“First time I’ve seen you at the Sabacc table,” he says, voice impossibly smooth. He’s older than the rest of them, with well-groomed, silvery hair and wrinkles lining his features._

_“That’s cause Rook fuckin’ sucks.” Lorna says from across the table as she counts her winnings. There is a slight hint of fondness in her tone, and Bodhi isn’t sure if it’s fondness for him as a person, or for the amount of credits she has won off of him._

_“‘Ey!” Bodhi flips her off, and she cackles again as she stuffs the credits into her shirt._

_“It’s not like Erso is any better than you. For someone so smart, you’d think he’d have better things to do than lose money to a bunch of backwater pilots.” The rest of the table laughs, but Bodhi doesn’t pay it much mind. It isn’t uncommon for him to become the punchline to every joke; his crew has made it increasingly obvious that they tolerate him at best._

_Erso just waves Lorna’s vicious comment off, the start of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Bodhi gives him another brief once-over._

_“You’re one of the scientists, then.” Bodhi says. There’s no way he could be a pilot (Bodhi would have met him already if so), and Erso’s dark uniform wasn’t the same standard issue the rest of the officers had. “I’m surprised you willingly subject yourself to the company of cargo pilots.”_

_“Banter keeps the brain sharp. I find that pilots are wittier than they let on,” Erso replies. “Galen Erso, by the way.”_

_“Bodhi Rook.”_

_Something small passes through Erso’s–Galen’s–expression, a mix of emotions that Bodhi can’t quite place, and it’s gone almost as quick as it came. Had Bodhi not been spending the majority of his recent free time studying facial cues, he would have missed it._

_“Next round, gentlemen?” Lorna asks, drawing Bodhi back out of his thoughts. She’s shuffling the cards, looking downright predatory in her obvious hunt for more credits. The others tap their hands against the table, grunting in agreement. Bodhi nods, turning his full attention back to the game. Galen does the same, and not a word is spoken between them after that._

_It isn’t until later, when the game has dissolved and everyone found their way into a bed, that Bodhi manages to place the emotions that had flickered across Galen’s face._

_Recognition. Surprise._

_Hope._

 

-

 

He pieces it together after a while, that Galen had been studying the files of every pilot that came in and out of Eadu, looking for someone that fit the criteria he needed.

Bodhi just happened to be in the right place at the right time. Or the wrong, depending on which side you choose to take.

 

-

 

(They hadn’t been close in any sense of the word. Galen was a busy man, flitting between assignments and adding the finishing touches to the Death Star.

Bodhi was just a means to an end.)

 

-

 

There is–

 

The catacombs reek of death and sweat, assaulting Bodhi’s senses as he kneels before Saw Gerrera. He is desperate at this point, wide eyed and scared as a man that’s more machine than skin stares down at him.

“I gave it to them,” he insists again, tilting his head to indicate the holochip in Saw’s hand. Galen never mentioned anything like this, that Saw Gerrera was half deranged and unable to trust anyone or anything, no matter what names Bodhi dropped. “Galen Erso, he told me to find you.”

He is nervous for what’s yet to come, stuck at a perpetual disadvantage because of his Imperial background. Maybe this is where it ends for him, the messenger who knows too much but isn’t useful enough to be given mercy. If Saw Gerrera cuts him down as he is, at least Bodhi will be right with the Force, knowing that even if he was too late, he still _tried_.

Saw doesn’t respond, though, instead yanking at the oxygen mask attached to his chest and pressing it over his mouth. His eyes go half-lidded as he breathes in deeply, and Bodhi can’t help but flinch at the sound.

 _Oh,_ Bodhi thinks, mouth parting as fear washes over him anew. The situation feels familiar all of a sudden. _Oh, Sul. This is what it was like._

There is another mechanical inhalation from Saw’s life support and Bodhi sees the wide stage of the Service Academy, Vader’s cape hanging limp around his shoulders, his fingers twisting as he choked a girl to death without even having to touch her. He sees the red of her blood, smeared across pristine white walls, staining everything and everyone.

“Bor gullet.” Saw says.

Bodhi hears his mother's prayers this time.

 

-

 

The torture is brutal, the Bor gullet taking Bodhi apart in ways he can’t even begin to understand. It skims through his memories and thoughts, plucking at the ones it finds interesting, creating gaps in his brain that leaves him scattered and confused. Afterwards, once Saw has his information, Bodhi’s head feels like it’s full of slime and sand. Everything is sticky but constantly shifting, nothing solid enough to get a hold on and leaving him floating aimlessly through the mess that is his own mind.

That is, until–

“Are you the pilot? The shuttle pilot?”

 

-

 

( _Death and the Force go hand in hand_ , Bodhi writes. It is long before he meets Galen, before he is thrown into the mess that is the Rebellion; he is just another cargo pilot traversing the Outer Rim.

_Ma always said that, at least. For a while after Father died, she would say that he wasn’t truly gone, but instead had become one with the Force. I began to see him in the smallest of details after that; his booming laughter in the racket of the marketplace, his chiding voice when I disobeyed anyone. Even the night reminded me of his eyes, which were so dark they nearly matched the black of his pupil._

_It makes me wonder if Sul is there, too, alongside everyone else the Empire has killed. Sul Salamon, Ziris Rann, Florian Bane…_

_I should make a list.)_

 

-

 

Bodhi watches NiJedha’s obliteration. His mind is still numb, everything hazy around the edges, but as the wall of sand and rubble barrels towards the catacombs, there is a part of Bodhi that reminds him: this is your fault.

_If only I had more time._

 

-

 

“You brought the message?”

“Yes. Your father… he said I could get right by myself. He said I could make it right, if I was brave enough. If I listened to what was in my heart, I could do something about it. Guess it was too late.”

Bodhi does not miss the look Cassian sends him over his shoulder, eyebrows knitted together and mouth parted slightly. Their eyes meet for a brief moment, but then Jyn is talking of her father’s message, how he worked a flaw into the planet-killer that had annihilated NiJedha, and Bodhi lets himself be distracted by it.

Cassian does, too.

 

-

 

(What different creatures they are. An Imperial pilot that was manipulated into defecting to further someone else's agenda, and the Rebel captain who will do anything for his cause.

If only they had more time.)

 

-

 

There is–

 

It takes an hour and a half to get to Eadu. Jyn all but shuts down, tucking herself into a corner by the window, knees pulled to her chest as she watches the stars race past them in one massive smear of color. The snit between her and Cassian had left something to be desired in terms of their working relationship, and Bodhi could tell that Cassian was ready to dump her at the nearest inhabitable planet and be done with it.

Chirrut and Baze weren’t much better, both of them in mourning. Their grief for NiJedha was palpable, thick enough to cut through with a blaster. Bodhi watches them out of the corner of his eye and thinks of home, another mesa on Jedha far enough away from the blast to be unharmed, and there is an ache of guilt that settles over him. His mother was alive. Her neighbors, the merchants from the market, old childhood friends, all alive. What did Bodhi do to deserve that?

He runs his hand through his hair, tucking the strands that had fallen loose back behind his ear. His skull aches, blood pounding against his temples as he tries to sort through the sudden burst of emotions. All those people, all those _civilians_ –

Bodhi stands abruptly, the silence suffocating. He desperately wishes he still had his personal tablet, but that was lost when he turned himself over to Saw’s men, and his fingers twitch for something to do.

“Cassian,” he says, making his way towards the cockpit. “Is there anything…?”

He lets it hang in the air, too unsure of Cassian’s response. As if a Rebel, a _captain_ , would trust an ex-Imperial pilot with anything, especially during such an important mission. It was foolish to even ask.

Cassian glances back at him, though, something soft flitting across his expression.

“No, not right now. But you said you worked in the Eadu facility before? When we get a little closer, I’ll need all the information you have about where to find Galen.”

“Yes, of course,” Bodhi says, taking a step back from the cockpit. He feels dirty and useless, but what does he expect, seeking something like that out in Cassian? Despite his penchant for picking up random strays, everything about him reads as someone who preferred to be alone in his missions. His knife-sharp attitude is proof enough of that.

“You don’t have to go.” Cassian says when Bodhi starts to turn, quiet so that only he and Kay-Tu could hear. His eyes flicker to the back of the ship, taking in the pitiful state of their temporary crewmates, before he looks at Bodhi again. “The others don’t look to be of good company.”

There is an unspoken “... _and I’m guessing that’s what you need right now_ ” that rests between them. It’s the closest to outright compassion that Bodhi has received in years.

“I don’t blame them.” Bodhi says.

“It’d be foolish to.” Cassian leans back in his seat, patting Kay-Tu’s shoulder as a clear signal that he now has full control of the ship. “What you said about Galen, ah, did he really convince you of all those things?”

Not the conversation Bodhi had been hoping for in terms of distractions.

“More or less. I never had the best relationship with the Empire, so to say. Galen just gave me a… push.” Bodhi turns his head and studies the dented metal of the ship's interior, feeling oddly embarrassed.

  
“Oh?”

“Yeah. We met in the cafeteria, by accident really. Some of the pilots were having a Sabacc tournament, and gambling was a way to pass the time before our departure, so I joined in. Galen did, too, and then we got to talking about this and that until...”

Bodhi runs a thumb over the back of his wrist, where the metal cuffs from Saw’s men had rubbed the skin raw. Until what? Until Galen had pulled him aside and told him about the Death Star, guilt-tripping Bodhi for delivering those Kyber shipments, for being compliant in the creation of a planet-killer?

(“ _You were a part of this_ ,” Galen had said, tone gentle, comforting, while his words were anything but. “ _But you can fix it, you can make things right._ ”)

“...until he told me about the Death Star and gave me an out. All I had to do was find Saw Gerrera on Jedha and deliver the holochip,” Bodhi says after a beat, looking back at Cassian.

Cassian’s expression is neutral; he’s clearly analyzing everything Bodhi has to say about Galen, about the Empire. Fine, whatever, Bodhi is just the messenger, and he did his job. If the Rebellion needs him to sit and lay out every single detail about what they’re up against, he’ll do it, just as long as he’s out after that. He did his good deed and got tortured because of it, he doesn’t owe anyone anything. Not anymore.

“Thank you.” Cassian says finally, voice low enough to be a whisper. Bodhi blinks once, twice, watching how the Rebel captain (whose only two emotions seem to be irritation and scathing anger) offers him a gentle thanks. “This gives us a chance to really fight back, and it wouldn’t have been possible without you.”

Embarrassment burns through Bodhi’s chest, hot and sudden and stifling. He’s never been one to get flustered easily, and yet every word out of Cassian’s mouth seems to crack him open a little bit more, tugging at his emotions like he was a teenager again.

“Yes, well, enough about me.” Bodhi says, cheeks starting to feel warm as he meets Cassian’s eyes. “Tell me about the Rebellion.”

 

-

 

Here’s the thing: Bodhi knows what they could be. He isn’t oblivious, Cassian is as attractive as he is deadly, and each time he looks at Bodhi, he seems to be _interested_.

 _I’m broken._ Bodhi wants to say, mouth going dry when Cassian relinquishes the controls of the ship to him a little while later, putting so much trust into someone he would have murdered a week ago without even batting an eyelash. _You don’t want me, I’m broken and nervous and too much of a lost cause to be worth it. They tortured me and took me apart, I’m an Imperial defect, I’m a mess. You don’t want me._

And then Cassian drops his hand to Bodhi’s shoulder in unspoken comfort, a small smile on his face, and Bodhi thinks–

_I’m broken, I’m broken, I want you._

 

-

 

( _Hope and death… you would think they were opposites, that death could only ever equal despair and pain. Which is a fair thought, and sometimes even I find myself wondering what the point of anything is if it all ends the same. And then I remember–_

_On Jedha, the only plants that could survive were the ones that adapted. Each wet season meant destruction, sleet tearing through the cacti and desert flowers that sprouted from the cracks in the ground, leaving almost nothing in its wake. But in doing so, the sleet also distributed the seed pods, which were hard as rocks and resilient against just about anything._

_Which is to say, death does not mean an absolute end. Hope is never truly lost. Even when blood is pooling at your feet (whether it be the blood of Rebels or Imperials or your own band of rogues), all you need to do is look up, towards the stars and suns and moons, knowing that there are others out there that are just like you, fighting for the same thing.)_

 

-

 

The rain on Eadu is warm and endless, lightning cracking overhead as Bodhi and Cassian climb to a higher point on the ridge. Dark gravel slips beneath their feet, and Bodhi stumbles more than once, still shaky from the crash. Kay-Tu hitting the outcropping in their descent had caused Bodhi to fall and slam the back of his head against the shuttle floor, jarring his brain even more so. Between the Bor gullet and the concussion he was more than likely sporting now, it was a wonder how he even managed to stay coherent. Bodhi’s vision was beginning to tilt, however, and it was only a matter of time before he succumbed to the trauma from the past twenty-four hours.

“You okay?” Cassian asks after he catches Bodhi for the third time, hand wrapped tight around his arm.

“Yeah,” Bodhi says. He blinks away the water droplets clinging to his eyelashes, watching a wave of concern pass Cassian’s features. “Just hit my head when we were going down. I’ll be fine, we need to keep going.”

Cassian hesitates before letting go of his arm, not looking entirely convinced. They don’t have any time to waste, though, so he doesn’t protest when Bodhi continues up the ridge, just follows closely behind without another word. Being on Eadu again makes Bodhi nervous; he’s a wanted criminal conspiring with active, high ranking Rebels.

They’d execute him if he was captured.

_Sul Salamon, Ziris Rann, Florian Bane, Bodhi Rook..._

Water seeps into the collar of Bodhi’s Imperial uniform, sneaking past the poncho Cassian had given him and dripping down the back of his neck. It’s uncomfortable and leaves his skin feeling sticky from the humidity, but he doesn’t dare complain, thinking instead of how Cassian is stuck wearing the same fur-lined coat from Jedha.

“Where’s your poncho?” Bodhi asks when they get to the top of the ridge, his breathing only somewhat labored. How long had it been since he last ate? His hands were starting to shake, his vision swimming.

“You’re wearing it,” Cassian says, doing a quick survey of the area. There’s something akin to amusement in his voice, and it instantly makes Bodhi feel foolish.

“We’ll need to go up higher, we won’t be able to see much from here.” Bodhi says quickly, glancing towards the brightly-lit landing pad about a hundred or so yards away. The thought of climbing another steep incline makes him feel nauseous, and despite the fact they’re far from done with the mission, Bodhi wants nothing more than to find somewhere soft to curl up and sleep for the next week.

“Do you need me to lead?” Cassian asks. Bodhi doesn’t know when he moved closer, but there’s a gentle pressure against his back a brief second later, Cassian’s hand keeping him steady when he starts to sway.

Cassian looks concerned, rainwater pooling briefly where the corners of his mouth are turned down. There is no outright mention of Bodhi’s increasing fatigue, no sneer that curls across Cassian’s lips, no cruel taunts at how Bodhi is jeopardizing their mission. Only the same genuine compassion that Cassian seems so fond of giving him.

Bodhi doesn’t know whether he prefers cruelty or kindness.

“It’d be for the best.” _That way, if I end up passing out, it’s a straight fall to the bottom. I won’t have to worry about taking you down with me._

Lightning cracks overhead when Cassian turns, brilliant white against the black sky, and it makes Bodhi’s head throb. He curls his hands tight enough that his fingers bite into the skin of his palm, and he follows.

 

-

 

Bodhi is dizzy when Cassian sends him away, voice sharp with the same irritation from earlier, when he had snapped at Kay-Tu back on the wrecked shuttle.

“I’m here, I’m looking, go,” he all but snarls. Water drips from his hair, falling across his cheeks. It softens the roughness of his features, makes his flashing brown eyes less hostile and more desperate. _“Hurry_.”

Bodhi doesn’t know what to make of it, so he goes, head spinning all the while.

 

-

 

(Cassian brought his rifle, led them up to higher ground, made Bodhi point out Galen to him. Bodhi isn’t stupid, and despite the concussion, it doesn’t take much for him to figure it out what it all means. Anger grips him first, briefly, followed by a sadness so deep it makes his chest hurt. It’s not like he could stop Cassian, and even if there was some off chance that Galen could be saved, there’s a small part of Bodhi that wants to see him burn.

Bodhi shifts into autopilot when he reaches the ship again, giving Kay-Tu directions without really knowing what he’s saying. He thinks of Galen with a bullet in his head and nearly throws up, nausea rolling through him like a wave.

 _Oh, Cassian,_ he thinks, arms shaking as he carries a tub of Rebellion equipment away from the shuttle. There is a distant sound of explosions behind him. _I hope you know what you’re doing._ )

 

-

 

There is–

 

Getting off Eadu is a blur. Bodhi is exhausted, running on adrenaline and sheer stubbornness as he calls orders up to Kay-Tu. It isn’t until Cassian and Jyn start going at it that whatever residual energy Bodhi had begins to fade, his legs nearly giving out as he’s typing the message they’ll need to send to the Rebel base. The only thing keeping him up is his firm grip on the console, the back of his head throbbing.

“You can’t talk your way around this,” he hears Jyn say. Her voice sounds distant, and Bodhi clenches his jaw, teeth grinding together as he focuses on not passing out. He just needs to finish typing out this message, then he can sit down and rest, at least until they get back to the base. There’s so much to do and so little time–  

“I don’t have to,” Cassian says, words sharp enough to cut to the bone.

The tension snaps beneath the sound of Cassian’s footsteps as he moves away from Jyn and towards the ladder to the cockpit, shoulders drawn back in a tight line. Frustration is practically vibrating across his skin, and Bodhi watches how he grabs a middle rung on the ladder and presses his forehead against the back of his hand.

“Bodhi,” Cassian says, voice tight and slightly muffled, but with a gentle inflection to it now. It doesn’t help to clear Bodhi’s head, implications upon implications piling up in the back of his mind. He thinks of the Cassian’s eyes back in the rain, illuminated by a bolt of lightning, wide and full of _something_. “Yavin IV. Make sure they know we’re coming in with a stolen ship.”

Bodhi nods, or at least tries to. It’s difficult, the jerky motion making his vision blur, and before he realizes what’s happening, his legs are folding beneath him. The room narrows to a single point as he falls backwards, too exhausted to even bother trying to catch himself on the communications console. He vaguely remembers at the last second to turn his head so that he won’t aggravate his concussion any further.

“Oh, hell, _Bodhi!_ ”

His ears are ringing, now, high-pitched and annoying, but he can’t focus enough to ask where the sound is coming from. A warm hand cups his cheek and he can hear people yelling somewhere in the distance, and then sleep overcomes him.

 

-

 

“Keep him still, Baze. The bacta needs to set, and it looks like you’re wearing half of it.”

“Oh, you try and hold him up, then.”

“You’re the one that offered. Cassian, how much longer?”

“It’ll be twenty minutes until we arrive at Yavin IV, and then it’ll be another four or five hours for all the Alliance High Command to gather. So start thinking of ways to convince them that your father was telling the truth and that we should continue with a further course of action.”

“What are we doing when we get back? Doesn’t the Rebellion have better things for us to do than sit around and wait?”

“First we get him to Medical, then we’re reporting directly to Mon Mothma. Chirrut, Baze, I’m sure you can find some way to pass the time while we’re gone.”

“Well, someone has to look after the pilot.”

“He’ll be fine. The Force seems very fond of him.”

“Oh? And how do you know that?”

“He made it this far, didn’t he?”

 

-

 

( _Hope and the Force; this is what sparks rebellions._

_Mother has always been more than religious enough for the two of us, but there’s a certain comfort in hearing her recite her prayers, and I will forever hold that close. The Force gave her hope, more than anything, I think. She always said that it surrounds us and binds us together, whether we’re good or evil. Which feels horribly cliché to so much as write out, but after watching my mother pick up the pieces of her life and move on after Father’s death, there has to be something to that, yeah?_

_I mean, if Darth Vader can possess the ability to control the same all-encompassing power that helps my mother sleep easier at night, who am I to say it’s anything else?_ )

 

-

 

Bodhi wakes to the buzzing of machines.

He feels disoriented, with a dry mouth and eyes still sticky with sleep. When he brings a hand up to rub his face, he’s taken aback by the IV taped to his skin. He blinks a couple times before following the tube up to the stand it’s attached to, watching the steady drip of solution.

_What happened?_

There’s a gap in his memory. He turns his head so that his cheek rests against the pillow, retracing the events of Eadu in an attempt to remember something. It takes a second for his brain to completely catch up, still sluggish from sleep, and Bodhi stares at the off-white wall while the memories of earlier begin to form. He taps his fingers against the sheet someone draped over him. There had been Jedha, flying to Eadu, leading Cassian to Galen...

He lets out a small, frustrated noise. He can’t place anything that happened after he and Kay-Tu stole the Imperial ship, his memories just cutting off. One moment he’s muttering instructions on how to properly detach the ship from its fueling station, and then… nothing.

Bodhi swallows around the dryness of his throat, wishing for the first time in years that he wasn’t alone, that there was someone here to tell him everything he missed. Nothing in the room hints at where he is; all of the medical equipment is the standard for what you’d find in any hospital, and there’s no decorations. Just plain, dusty white.

But based on context clues and the fact that he isn’t already dead, they must have gotten to some Rebel base, if not Yavin IV. Which, good. That’s what Bodhi needs to focus on, the fact that he’s alive and hasn’t been captured by the Empire. He tries not to think of Galen, or Cassian with the rifle in his hands, eyes flashing wildly as the endless rain danced across his skin. There’s a part of him that feels guilty, remembering how he had wished pain on Galen.

 _He saved you_. _But he also manipulated you, guilt-tripped you into thinking_ you _were at fault for the Death Star. He was the one that built the damn thing_.

Well. He really doesn’t need to be thinking about that.

There’s the soft sound of footsteps outside the room, suddenly, and Bodhi tenses on reflex. When the door opens, though, he can’t help the rush of relief that surges through him, his muscles relaxing almost immediately.

“Oh, good, you’re awake.” Cassian says, a small smile on his face as he steps into the room fully, a small tray of food balanced on his hip. “I, ah, brought you something to eat. The doctor said that you’d be hungry when you woke up.”

It hits Bodhi then, the fact that he’s starving and thirsty. He can’t remember the last time he ate something other than a protein ration, and he hasn’t had a proper drink of water since his arrival on Jedha. The rain on Eadu had barely been enough to keep his lips from drying out due to dehydration.

“Thank you,” Bodhi says. His voice is rough from disuse, and when he tries to push himself up onto his forearms, his muscles nearly give under the strain of his own weight. Embarrassment pools hot in his stomach, twisting like a knife under his skin as his arms begin to shake.

“Here,” Cassian says quickly, setting the tray at the end of the bed. “Let me–”

His palm is wide and warm as it splays against Bodhi’s shoulder blade, gently helping him into a sitting position. Cassian is nothing but patient as Bodhi settles against the mountain of hospital-issued pillows, sinking down against the soft, papery material. Warmth spreads across Bodhi’s face, and he’s grateful when Cassian takes a step back in order to retrieve the food.

“You didn’t need to do this,” Bodhi says quietly once Cassian sets the tray in his lap. There’s a little bit of everything, it seems: prepackaged fruits, slices of meat on top of a heaping side of rice and vegetables, two different kinds of juices, and little packets of sauce and spices on the side. Bodhi goes straight for the glass of water.

“Yes, well. Everyone else is busy, but Chirrut was convinced that you were going to wake up soon, so.” Cassian focuses on a point somewhere on the other side of the room, looking vaguely uncomfortable. Bodhi can’t help but smile behind the rim of the water cup, secretly delighted to see Cassian on the verge of getting flustered. It makes Bodhi feel better about himself, at least.

“I appreciate it. You aren’t busy, though?”

“No. I already reported to Mothma. Now we just sit and wait for the rest of High Command to get here,” Cassian says.

“Ah.” Bodhi starts on the little bag of sliced fruit, opening it with his teeth. Fresh fruit was never something that was readily available on Jedha; everything the merchants sold was dried and salted to give it a longer shelf life. Yet he doesn’t bother to savor the sweet flavor of any of it. There are more important things to be doing than eating.

“How are you feeling?” Cassian asks him.

Bodhi pokes at the fruit pieces. He feels better, to say the least. His head isn’t pounding anymore, and he can actually focus without it taking all of his mental capacity to do so. Save for the slowly fading weakness in his muscles, he feels normal, almost.

“Better. A little tired, but better,” Bodhi says. He chews on the inside of his cheek, briefly, until he finally decides that it doesn’t matter in the long run and just picks a slice at random. Before he takes a bite, he asks:

“What happened, back on Eadu? I can’t remember anything after stealing the ship with Kay.”

Cassian looks surprised, but quickly masks it by glancing around the room, his eyes settling on a lone chair in one nearest corner.

“You saved us. You got everyone on board and then proceeded to pass out before we even left the atmosphere.” Cassian says as he makes his way towards the chair, bringing it close to Bodhi’s bedside before he settles into it.

A fresh wave of heat rushes to Bodhi’s face. Of course he blacked out, that seemed to be the extent of his luck. “Oh. That’s embarrassing.”

Cassian smiles, a small, barely-there twitch of his lips that makes Bodhi’s chest feel uncomfortably tight.

“The doctor said you were exhausted and dehydrated, and that you had a concussion. Not  _too_ embarrassing, considering all you did beforehand.” Cassian leans back in the chair, arms folded against his chest. He changed at some point, donning what appears to be his Rebel uniform, a brown jacket over a tan shirt. Bodhi wonders, distantly, if there’s a change of clothes for him somewhere, too. The sooner he can get out of this hospital gown, the better, and there’s no telling what any of them did with his Imperial uniform. Burned it, probably.

A small pang goes through Bodhi at the thought. It would have been nice to watch the old thing to up in flames himself. But beggars can’t be choosers, and he’s here now, at the very least. Who knows for how long, though.

“Well, thanks,” Bodhi says, picking at the pile of rice on his plate. He means it, too. He’d be dead without Cassian, left instead to rot in the dust of NiJedha, crushed beneath the city–the _people_ –he had failed.  

A heavy silence settles between them as Bodhi eats. The food is filling, but lacking in any real flavor, even when drenched in whatever sauce Cassian brought him. Bodhi feels homesick for his mother's cooking, but that’s not anything new. He’s been homesick for a decent meal since he enlisted, the Imperial cafeteria food falling about an inch short of just being straight mush.

Bodhi swallows a forkful of vegetables without really tasting it and thinks of Galen, of how they met. In an Imperial cafeteria, eating disgusting protein rations and gambling away what little money they had. Well. _He’d_ been doing that, at least. Galen had been scoping out the pilots.

Before he can stop himself, Bodhi asks:

“Cassian… is Galen–”

“Dead,” Cassian says immediately. There isn’t a hint of remorse in his voice.

“Because of you?”

 _Stop picking at this wound. Let it go,_ Bodhi tells himself. He has a right to know this, though. He has a right to be angry and frustrated and sad, but no matter how much he wants to be, he’s really not any of those. There’s a part of him that had accepted this, when Galen first told him about the Death Star, about what he built. It had always been a risk, that someone would find out that Galen had been spilling Imperial secrets to a lowly cargo pilot, and then they’d both be dead.

“Rebel bombs,” Cassian says. He looks so, so tired, and yet he’s nothing but patient as he answers Bodhi’s questions. “I went against my orders.”

“And Jyn?” Bodhi can’t help but feel pity for her. He knows she wouldn’t want it, her lips would curl back in a snarl and she’d probably spit at his feet. That doesn’t stop him from feeling it anyway.

“Alive, but not very happy. Probably planning on strangling me in my sleep.” Cassian rubs a hand across the back of his neck. He looks older, somehow. Bodhi watches the shadows dance across his face as he ducks his head, the hollows of his cheeks and the bags under his eyes appearing larger.

There are so many things Bodhi wants to ask, personal questions that Cassian might not even have answers to. _How many people have you killed? Do you feel guilty? Does each death haunt you? Do you remember them, or do you try and forget?_

_How do I stop thinking about all of the people I’ve failed?_

“Well, that’s war, isn’t it?” Bodhi says instead. It will never be his place to ask those questions, and he chews on a slice of meat to keep himself from saying anything he might regret.

There’s so much left to do, it seems. They know how to defeat the Death Star, at least in theory, but the actual plans are hidden away on Scarif, a planet that Bodhi didn’t even have the proper rank to run cargo for. Getting past the planet-wide shield will be nearly impossible.

“What happens now?” Bodhi asks after a few beats. He glances at Cassian, and when they lock eyes, Bodhi has to look away again just as quickly.

It isn’t fair, the softness in Cassian’s expression whenever he talks to Bodhi, the genuine _care_ that seems to radiate off of him. When was the last time someone had really looked at him like that? He had friends back with the Empire, sure, but those were more out of necessity than any real emotional connection. They were drinking buddies, friendly faces between cargo runs and casual conversations that were never anything more than “ _i_ _t’s been a while_ ” and “ _how are you doing?_ ”

“You get to rest,” Cassian says. “High Command will decide whether we try and get the actual plans for the Death Star, or if we stay low.”

Bodhi nearly drops his plastic fork. Rest? They were all running out of time, the planet-killer was almost finished, already working well enough to destroy entire cities, and the others thought he should _rest?_ There was so much to do, and Bodhi needed to be there to help.

“You can’t expect me to lay around while all of you work,” Bodhi says, voice dripping with disbelief. He reaches for the first cup of juice. “I feel fine now, I should be doing something to help.”

That gets Cassian to really smile, something wide and bursting, full of such life that Bodhi hasn’t seen in Cassian since they met. It shocks him a little bit, the genuine emotion Cassian seems to give Bodhi so freely. He always acted so reserved around the others, putting on the mask of someone that wanted to be alone.

And yet, he sought out Bodhi, going as far as to bring him food and keep him company when he could be doing just about anything else. Maybe Bodhi isn’t as good at reading people as he thought. For all he knows, Cassian is different when he’s not on a mission, more relaxed and carefree.

Less likely to bite someone's head off, anyway.

“I was planning on sneaking you out. Didn’t expect you to be so eager,” Cassian says, leaning back in his chair.

It strikes Bodhi, then, that Cassian was actively thinking about him while he was out of it, deciding that Bodhi was an asset the Rebellion needed to put to use immediately, rather than have him waste away in bed when he was already so eager to help. Which, given how little they know of one another, is a surprisingly accurate assessment.

“Why am I not surprised that you were going to steal a concussed patient?” Bodhi teases, a little giddy. He feels warm all over, undeniably happy that he was among company that genuinely cared about him now. How long had it been since someone other than his mother, other than Galen, cared whether he lived or died?

“Please, your concussion was mostly healed before we even landed. Bacta is like magic.” Cassian waves him off, looking amused. “Speaking of which, you’ll probably need to visit the ‘fresher once we’re out of here. Jyn was, ah, a little heavy-handed with the gel.”

The hand that doesn’t have an IV in it immediately flies to the back of Bodhi’s head, fingers combing through his hair. He cringes as dried bacta crunches against his palm. He probably looks like a wreck, his hair wild and dirty since someone had taken it out of its tie.

“Alright, well,” Bodhi says, wiping his hand on the front of his hospital gown. He’s finished almost all of the food by this point, and the leftover scraps are already cold. “I’m as ready as I’ll ever be. Is there something else I can change into?”

“Here.” Cassian reaches for the nightstand beside Bodhi’s bed, pulling what looks to be his Imperial uniform out from the small cubby underneath. A rush of affection goes through him when he catches sight of it, the uniform folded neatly with his goggles placed on top. It looks cleaner now, like someone had given it a proper wash for the first time in weeks.

“Be quick in changing. The nurses will come running the minute I take you off all these machines.” Cassian stands, moving the chair back to its original corner.

“Well-versed in hospital escapes, are we?” Bodhi says. He can’t help but smile when Cassian turns and shoots him a playful glare. It feels like they’ve already come so far in the past twenty or so minutes.

“I’m not exactly the most careful when it comes to personal safety,” Cassian answers. “The IV will need to come out first, give me your hand.”

His fingers curl around Bodhi’s hand, warm and rough with callouses, yet so gentle in how they peel back the tape from Bodhi’s skin. Cassian’s thumb rubs at the tacky residue that’s left behind, careful not to jostle the needle, and it’s shocking how easy this feels between them.

Bodhi can’t help but watch the concentration on Cassian’s face, barely feeling the pinch that is the needle sliding from his vein. There’s such a soft concentration to his features, as if instead of handling a ex-Imperial pilot, he was holding something worth more than either of them could ever imagine.

 _I don’t know you,_ Bodhi thinks, mouth parting as Cassian wipes away the blood that beads from the miniscule wound. _I don’t know where you came from, I don’t know your favorite color, I don’t know if you’ve ever been in love. I don’t know you._

_But I want you._

 

-

 

There is a part of Bodhi, something small and tucked away, that says:

_He wants you, too._

There is another part of Bodhi, something bigger and louder, that says:

_You’re a fool, you’re going to die, nothing will come of this._

 

-

 

When Bodhi steps out of the refresher, feeling clean and full of hope for what is yet to come, Cassian greets him with a smile.

“Better?” he asks.

“Much,” Bodhi says, returning his grin.

Cassian’s room is big and achingly empty, nothing more than a bed, desk and dresser. Bodhi can’t help but imagine what it’d be like to fit his life into the rest of the wide, open spaces; what trinkets he could leave on the lone windowsill, blueprints for another personal tablet piled in the corner, the insignia from Bodhi’s Imperial uniform tacked to the wall above Cassian’s desk as a reminder of how far they’ve come.

“Not one for decorations?” Bodhi asks, fingers trailing through the dust that’s collected on top of the dresser. How long did he ever get to stay here, really? The Rebellion probably moves bases often in an attempt to stay off the Empire’s radar.

  
“It makes it difficult to move on.” Cassian says. There’s a certain hint of melancholy in his voice that makes Bodhi want to know what he was like before, when he was young and naïve and believed good would always win over evil. They’re still strangers, really, who met by necessity and are working for something bigger than themselves.

That doesn’t mean the mutual attraction isn’t there, anyway. And maybe the attraction is what will lead them to something deeper, more profound. They don’t have the time now, of course; there’s a meeting Bodhi has to attend with Jyn soon, but there’s always that inkling of hope. And even if Cassian turns him away… well, Bodhi’s with the Rebellion now. He has all the stars to explore.

“And people?” Bodhi asks cautiously. There’s more to his words, and he bites the inside of his cheek, wondering if Cassian will pick up on it. He’s not stupid, Bodhi is well aware, but he’s relying on the assumption that Cassian could want something more, even just for a little while.

There’s a pause as Cassian finishes reading something on his datapad, probably a briefing for his next mission. When he looks up, though, his eyes are full of warmth and _knowing_ , and it makes Bodhi’s heart ache.

“They also make it difficult to move on,” Cassian says before he sets the pad on his desk, stepping forward to close the space between them. “But there are… exceptions, so to say, when everything is doomed.”

“And why is everything doomed?” Bodhi asks, hands finding their way to Cassian’s hips. It’s easy to know what Cassian is getting at; going to Scarif is inevitable at this point, and the chances of them making it out are slim. Still, there’s something horrible, absolutely perverted about how they talk about death, _their_ deaths, so flippantly, how they use it as a tool to flirt. Bodhi glances at Cassian’s lips and can’t find the room to care.

“Long answer or short?” Cassian hums, eyes raking over Bodhi’s face. It makes goosebumps form along his arms.

“Short.” Bodhi says.

“No matter what, we’re going to Scarif. We’re not coming out alive.” Cassian says, one hand closing around the back of Bodhi’s neck, the other coming up to brush a stray hair from his cheek. Bodhi can’t help but sigh into his touch.

“Well, best make the most of what little time is left,” Bodhi says. Cassian laughs, something harsh and desperate, before he presses their foreheads together and leans in.

 

-

 

(Cassian kisses with a sort of tenderness that Bodhi has never known. He curls his fingers through Bodhi’s still-damp hair, presses him against the wall and covers his body completely, until Bodhi feels like every inch of his skin is on fire. It’s as if Cassian wants to hide him from the rest of the world, to keep Bodhi for himself as he is now, content and safe and as happy as either of them can ever be.

“I think,” Cassian says between kisses, his words warm against Bodhi’s mouth, “that this is the best we’re going to get.”

 _We’re such fools_ , Bodhi wants to say. He settles for bringing a hand up to press against Cassian’s throat instead, feeling the rhythm of his pulse. _We’re doomed, star-crossed, our happy ending doesn’t exist. I want you, I want you, I want you._

“And I think,” Bodhi says as he pulls away, opening his eyes and watching Cassian do the same. “That I’m alright with that.”

Cassian grins against Bodhi’s cheek, his scruffy facial hair tickling Bodhi’s nose. They have a meeting with High Command in an hour and a half, and then Scarif is after that. For now, though, with Cassian pressing a soft trail of kisses across Bodhi’s jaw, they have this.

 _I’m broken_ , Bodhi thinks as he closes his eyes again. _But you want me._ )

 

**Author's Note:**

> And then they go to Scarif, and instead of thinking about Galen in his final moments, Bodhi thinks of Cassian. The end.
> 
> Kudos and comments are much appreciated. 
> 
> Feel free to come talk to me on my [Tumblr](http://gaybabygeekboy.tumblr.com)!


End file.
